


spectrum

by anika



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, Past Character Death, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anika/pseuds/anika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They die."</p><p>Each life taken in a different place, a different way, only getting so far in the journey; the Underground is no place for children.</p><p>(A recount of each fallen human after the first, each colored soul that meets an end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aqua Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> i read too many things about the past kids and got too inspired to Write and here i am  
> beta'd by quibbs  
> tags will be added as it goes  
> B)  
> (feedback is greatly appreciated!)

It’s dark. The only light in the room is from the entrance high above, shining down on you like a spotlight, a beacon to draw whatever lurks in the shadows closer to you. There’s no way you can get back up there, so you clutch your toy knife and wait. You back up against a wall for safety, still facing the illuminated bed of flowers; nothing can sneak up on you, and you can see just enough.

The tears in your eyes threaten to fall. You will admit, you’re scared. Knife in hand, you’re glad you brought it, even if it is only plastic. You’ve heard the stories of monsters, heard the triumphant tales of their defeat from the adults in your village, repeated by the proud voices of their children who had no idea what they were talking about. They made monsters sound so vicious, so dangerous, and now you were vulnerable to them.

A deep breath. In, out. You will be fine. Just as you have calmed yourself down, you hear something move. Your eyes widen and you stay still, only scanning the room with your gaze. A shadow approaches, its shape becoming clearer with each step.

It resembles the frogs you saw near the stream near your home. You loved watching them, staying still as to not scare them away nor interrupt the peace and quiet of the environment. This one is different, though; large, with flies fluttering behind it and large eyes that stare at you. Is that...another set of eyes on its body? You don’t know.

The frog stops and appears to be giving you a curious look. You relax a bit, wondering if it’s friendly, but you get your answer sooner than you would have liked. It makes a movement of some sort, and the flies start buzzing towards you. The frog then makes a lunge, and you do nothing but close your eyes and hope.

“Stop that!”

You open your eyes slowly, still too scared to move, the buzzing loud in your ears but not moving any closer. The source of the voice approaches, much larger than the frog and yet...you feel as if this is a good thing.

The monster is in sight, now. She’s much larger and more humanoid, white with drooping ears and short horns on her head. She gives the frog a stern, disapproving look, and the frog seems to sulk away, ashamed. The monster sighs, then looks at you.

You’re surprised by the look she gives you. A sharp intake of breath fills the room, not from you but from her, and she seems to bite her lip. You can’t put a finger on her expression; her eyes shimmer with...something? Tears? You aren’t sure.

She kneels down and gives you a smile. “Hello, child.” Her voice is shaky. “I haven’t seen anything like you in a long time.”

You relax. “Who are you?”

“I am Toriel,” she whispers, “I watch over these ruins. And I will not hurt you.”

“Can you help me?” Your voice shakes.

“It is my every intention to.” She stands and offers you a hand. “Come, now.”

She helps you up when you finally take it. You hold onto her as she leads you out of the dark room, and nearly miss her breath catching as she sees the flowers. You wonder if she’s okay.

The ruins are beautiful in their own way. Toriel shows you the puzzles, guides you through them, keeps a close eye on you. She stops you from trying a few on your own, saying they’re too dangerous, and you listen. Something in her voice tells you she knows what she’s doing, even if you think you can do them yourself just fine. You don’t quite understand the way she deals with monsters, the way she talks to them when they approach and threaten instead of fighting them. Maybe it’s because she’s a monster, too. You decide not to think much of it until you pull your knife on another frog; she looks at you and shakes her head. You put the knife back in your pocket.

“Why not?” you ask.

“They mean well,” she answers, “they’re often simply scared at first. They hardly have a chance.”

“I give them a chance,” you insist, “I wait for them to finish.”

“Makes no difference,” she states. “Why create unnecessary violence when you can resolve the encounter peacefully? Besides,” he turns her head away and squeezes your hand, “you never know when one will successfully hurt you. Please do try to evade.”

Something in her voice convinces you well enough.

She leads you into a large courtyard, greeted by a bare tree with crunchy red leaves surrounding its base. There’s a quaint house behind it with a garden.

“Here we are,” Toriel says, “we’re home.”

She leads you into the house and goes into the kitchen as you wait in the living room. You look around. It’s a beautiful home, well lived in and loved, with flowers in vases and bookshelves that had seen a lot of wear. You could smell whatever was cooking, and while you couldn’t figure out what exactly it was, it smelled good.

“You’re just in time,” Toriel said from the kitchen, “I’ve been working on dinner.” She walks out and smiles at you. “If you give me a minute or so, I could have your room ready…”

“I’m staying here?” you ask.

Something changes in Toriel’s expression. “Do...you want to leave?”

“There’s no way for me to go back home, is there?”

She sighs and leans down. A paw strokes through your hair, plays with your ribbon. “I’m afraid not. The rest of the underground is far too dangerous.” She stands up again and walks to her chair. “Come here.”

You do as she says, opting for sitting in her lap. She is mildly surprised, and though she grins at your action it fades as she continues her explanation. “The people out there...Asgore, his guard...they wish to hurt you, child.”

“Why?” you ask, looking up at her. “Because I’m human?”

“Yes, and they...desire humans for their own despicable reasons. I am afraid they cannot be reasoned with, either.” She closes her eyes, stroking your hair again. “They may come search for you. You’re safer here.”

“You’ll protect me?”

“Yes.”

“And if they come…will I have to fight?”

“Only if you must.”

Moments pass. Seconds, perhaps minutes. You ponder this information; you’re surprisingly okay with not being able to go back. You already trusted Toriel, felt as if she could be your mother much better than the one you knew. Perhaps your village was wrong about monsters.

“Okay,” you mutter, “I’ll stay with you.” And if they come, you’ll have no qualms over killing them for yourself. They’ll never know what hit them.

* * *

The only way you know how much time has passed is by the calendars your new mother keeps. Where she gets them is still a mystery, but for three years you never questioned it. Now, you are in your early teen years, and you are discovering something you’ve had an inkling towards ever since you were a child; you are very sick.

Mom notices. You play it off, insisting that it’s only a cold or something caused by your growing body, but you can’t lie to that face, not truly. It’s a blatant lie, since the symptoms are different, but she doesn’t press you about it.

One day, she mentions she knew someone who became very sick, so she would do her best to use that knowledge to help.

“What happened to them?” you ask.

Her breath catches. “It was...much more severe than your illness, my child. I’m sure you will fare better.”

The way her voice cracks on the last word makes it seem like she’s trying to convince herself. You only feel worse.

Time passes. Days, weeks, months, and it only gets worse. Mom sits by your bedside every night and you tell each other bad jokes; you were never the best at them, but you’ve learned from her. Coming up with your own joke elicits utter delight from her. It’s a good way to spend hours together, it pulls the both of you into a world where everything is okay. Sometimes, it’s enough.

Tonight, you take a long look at your mother’s face. She looks tired. She must be. A rush of love and thanks fills your body; you still don’t know her exact reasons for taking you, a human, in, but you’re incredibly thankful. These ruins are more of a home than you’ve ever experienced. You got to live because of her care, even if it only extended your time by a few years; these years were so, so important.

“Goodnight, my child,” she says as she walks out of the room.

“Goodnight,” you say, looking her in the eye. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.”

The light turns off. Your breathing slows. You can feel it, feel the life draining out of your body inch by inch, and you know your time come close. Tears well up in your sunken eyes when you think about your mother walking in and discovering your body, of her having to bury you, having to look at you when you’re not even there anymore. You don’t want her to keep suffering.

The room is filled with your shaky breathing. You’ve stayed in one place all these years, waiting for something to come. You didn’t want it to be this. But now you had to move. You wait until she’s asleep; she’s always asleep at a certain time of night. Then, slowly, you plant your clammy feet on the ground and pull yourself up.

The darkness is no hindrance to you as you navigate your room, since your eyes have had time to adjust. You pick up your old ribbon and tie it slowly, closing your eyes as you do so. You think of all those times your mother tied it up for you, taking care to make the bow even and not to damage it. You’re somewhat surprised it’s lasted. Your hands finish the knot as your eyes land on your old toy knife, and you are compelled to pick it up as you’re filled with nostalgia. You tuck it into your waistband for good luck.

Mother’s room is the one next to yours, so you tiptoe as best you can out and crack open her door. Fast asleep. You take one long look at her and close it again. The mirror at the end of the hall catches your eye and you absentmindedly walked towards it, passing the closed-off room you’ve never bothered exploring.

You look in the mirror. It’s you.

The ruin outside is no darker than it normally is, thanks to the lack of sunlight to indicate time of day. You go to the left when you exit your mother’s courtyard, up to the balcony with a view of the ruin. You may as well take it in one last time.

It’s breathtaking, looking out at the vast cave filled with buildings long since abandoned. You smile faintly as you imagine what life here would have been like, filled with bustling busy monsters talking to each other on the street and going about their business. Part of you wishes you could’ve said hello to some of the other monsters, but you know what would have happened if you did so.

A sound you don’t recognize can be heard from behind you. You turn towards the exit, and an unfamiliar monster is there, and you can’t make out its face; either its features are moving and shifting, or you’ve grown too dizzy to focus. Maybe both. Either way, it doesn’t look friendly, doesn’t recognize you like the other monsters do.

It attacks, and you are in no shape to do anything than what you’re used to: staying still. Being patient. The attacks miss, somehow, and you steady yourself by grasping the barrier behind you. You want to leave it alone, want to leave the balcony, but it’s adamant about blocking the exit and you can barely move to act.

The toy knife in your hand feels hot, and you do the only thing you know how to do; you wait until it lets its guard down. You strike. In one blow, there is only dust, and the knife clatters to the ground.

Your mind is not clear enough to think of what you’ve done. But you can finally leave.

The knife is still on the ground, but when bend over to pick it up a wave of vertigo washes over you and you catch yourself on a wall. You steady your breath and push yourself back up, deciding to leave it. Hopefully you won’t need it ever again.

You take your time walking through the ruins, feeling the weakness creeping up at you, your consciousness struggling to stay latched onto itself. You’re even dizzier from the walking, but you keep going. It is a last farewell to the ruins, the puzzles, the monsters that you’ve befriended.

You aren’t sure where you’re going, what your goal is, but your mind at this point is too far gone to care.

The room with the six holes is where you end up, and you stop to catch your breath again by leaning against the wall. You push off and use the momentum to keep going, but stumble a bit near one of the holes. The red ribbon in your hair is loose and falls, and you reach out your hand in a vain attempt to catch it as it drifts into the hole, into the floor below.

“No…” you whisper, and you collapse.

The room is spinning and fading out. The sound of someone breathing grows fainter. Your breathing? Perhaps. You slip your eyes closed and slip into silence, and the final gift the ruins give to you is the sound of footsteps reaching your ears.


	2. Orange Frostbite

You don’t understand the dust. The pink glove on your hand makes contact one last time and before you know it, all that is left is dust. It swirls in the wind, flutters down and blends into the snow. You watch it, knowing what it means but not wanting to think about it. You have to do this, right? If you didn’t, they would kill you first.

You continue to stalk through the trees and tighten the bandana around your head. Each step is met with a soft crunch of frost or a stick, or of snow being compressed under your foot. Footsteps are easy to follow, so you hope nothing is behind you. You have to get to them first.

The treeline ends and opens up into a series of paths and puzzles. Another thing about this place you don’t understand are the puzzles holding you back, keeping you from progressing. You scoff to yourself; they’re pointless, you can just rush through them and hope for the best. It’s not like anyone’s overseeing them, anyway.

A movement in the corner of your eye causes you to shift your gaze. Before you know it, your fists are out, rushing towards it and ready to fight. The monster would only get in your way or hurt you, you tell yourself again.

More dust. You cough. You keep walking.

Snow is annoying, especially since you’re hardly used to it. It’s so cold and wet and sticky, seeping into your shoes and socks and climbing up your limbs. Shivers run down your spine as you trudge through and keep your eyes on the ground. You have no idea if you’re going the right way, where you’ll even end up, but how big can the underground be? You just want to go home, to make it out alive.

Then you see the sign. “Welcome to Snowdin!” A village? Probably. Oh god, there would be a lot of them in a village, but...it’s the most obvious step towards progress.

You retrace your steps a bit, hide in more bushes, and wait, some time to think it over.

Two monsters approach, walking along the path but not noticing you and stopping in front. You can only hear bits and pieces of their conversation and try not to pay attention, readying another attack. You’re ready to jump out, knees bent and ready to spring up, fist clenched, glove ready-

-a monster laughs.

Your face falls a bit and your tense pose relaxes. The sound reaching your ears is joyful, carefree, innocent. A laugh with no malicious intent. Their friend also laughs and grabs their...is that even a hand? Whatever the monster equivalent is, and they turn to walk off.

You sit back a little too soon, and the bushes rustle. One of the monsters turns to face you, looking right over you but not spotting you yet. You freeze.

“Did you hear that?” they ask their friend.

“It’s probably just a dog.”

The monster approaches anyway. You get ready to fight again, to lunge before the monster knows what happened, but something causes you to hesitate for only a brief moment, and then you’re too late. The monster pulls apart the evergreen leaves.

“Oh, hello,” they say. Their expression is welcoming, and they continue when you don’t respond. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap. The monster is unaffected.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” You scoot back.

“What is it?” the monster’s friend asks as they walk over.

“I think they’re lost,” is the response.

“I’m not,” you lie, “now leave me alone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The monster stands up. “Be careful, okay?”

You push yourself to your feet and step out of the bushes as they walk away. The one that found you gives you a concerned smile over their shoulder, and you stand up taller, make yourself seem bigger, keep your expression stern. You don’t need anyone worrying about you.

More time is spent wandering as you avoid the town, and you pass a box you saw earlier. It didn’t catch your attention the first time around since you didn’t pay attention, but you approach it this time. Open it. It’s empty. You glance down at your dust-covered glove and are immediately thankful the monsters earlier didn’t see it nor pay it any mind.

You take it off. Place it in the box. Linger a bit, then get up. Keep walking.

You aren’t going to need it. 

* * *

 

Braving the town is much easier than expected. People are welcoming, friendly, even despite the glares you send them and the indifference you show them. You don’t speak to them, you keep looking down. You don’t have to avoid their gazes for too long, since you duck into a store to do what you must, and interaction with whoever runs it is unavoidable. In, then out. You won’t be too long.

You realize you don’t have any money. You don’t even know what they use as currency.

“Hello!” the monster at the counter says. She looks friendly, rabbit-like, and smiles down at your short form. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh…” you look away. “I need food, but I just remembered…”

“What is it, honey?”

“I don’t have any money,” you say, and try your best not to seem hesitant.

She frowns and furrows her brow in thought. “Hmm,” she mumbles, crossing her arms. “I normally don’t take sales or anything else, but for you, I could trade something, instead.”

You look up and make eye contact. “Really?”

The bunny smiles. “You’re gonna need some meat on you if you wanna survive this cold,” she says. “Got anythin’?”

You think for a moment, then untie the bandana around your head. “This, maybe?”

She chuckles. “That’s quite the fashion accessory you got there, kid. I’m sure someone would make good use of it. Did you draw that yourself?”

You frown and look away again as you hand it to her. “Yeah.”

She takes it from you and hands you something. “Made it myself, just like you made this. Fair trade-off, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you say, and leave immediately.

Once you’re out, you look to the east, the direction opposite of where you came. Only snow and trees and more monsters were visible. You should go that way if you want to get out, but...you don’t want to look at any more monsters. You don’t want to see their smiles, experience their kindness. So you turn around and walk back yet again.

More steps, more crunching, more slippery snow. Heavy breathing, holding back...something? What is this? It can’t be tears. If you look close enough, there’s still dust on your hands, not enough to see unless you’re looking for it.

Something strikes your back, something cold and sharp, and before you know it you spin around. A monster stands there. It reminds you of something...one of the monsters you’ve fought before, maybe? It says something about its hat as it readies more ice to throw at you.

You clench your fists, but stop and let go after a moment. What if you didn’t do this? You try to dodge another attack and tear your eyes away from the monster. You still can’t look at them.

“What are you doing?” it says.

You still don’t look at it, and are hit by its ice.

“Fine! I don’t care!”

It...stops attacking? You finally look up, and it turns away from you. You take a cautious step back and see that it really doesn’t care. Maybe you should leave.

Continuing your aimless journey, you aren’t sure where you’re going. You take turns you haven’t taken before, stray off the path and push through foliage. The needles on the trees poke and prick as you speed up your steps. You grow tired. You sit down.

Was this murder?

No. It was in self defense. They would’ve killed you if you hadn’t gotten to them first. You remember what that woman said to you before you left the ruins. That they wanted to take your soul. But...you talked to some of them...they were so friendly…

The ones you killed were mostly unassuming. Bystanders. Probably just like the ones who showed you kindness. Kindness you didn’t deserve.

And if they did fight you, you could just let them go. But you didn’t. And now they’re dead.

You take out the food. It’s a cinnamon roll shaped like a bunny. A cinnamon bun. A laugh escapes your lips when you realize the pun; it’s so clever and innocent, and the shopkeeper was so nice.

Cold tears sting on your cheeks as you eat. When you’re done, you wipe your face and eyes and stand up. Yes, you made mistakes, but you’ve realized it now. It won’t happen again.

You grasp a branch as you stand up, shaking the snow from your pants. That’s when you realize: you have no idea where you are. How long you ran, how many times you changed direction, you don’t know. Your eyes look around first, then you turn your whole body to scan the area. There’s nothing but trees in every direction, covered in snow to blend in with the ground.

You calm yourself down when you realize you can just retrace your footsteps. Your eyes stay locked on them, and you clench and unclench your hands again to keep warm; it’s also a familiar movement, and while it shouldn’t be now, it’s good comfort.

The footprints fade after a while and you slow down. No. No, they can’t be gone. You hadn’t even noticed that the snow had begun to fall again, making its way through the trees or building up so it falls down in clumps. How was it even snowing? There was no sky.

Lost. That’s what you are, though you hate to admit it. You keep walking, frantic, in the direction your footsteps had been going, but you know it’s hopeless; you twisted and turned so many times, you have no idea if you’re going in the right direction anymore. So you go back to what you were doing before; you run. You run in whatever direction you can and hope you find your way out.

The forest only seems to be getting thicker somehow. Maybe it really is and you’re just getting more lost, or maybe your fear and disorientation is warping your perception. You really can’t worry about that now, so you keep going. You retrace, take a different turn, go left, go right, keep running until your legs grow tired again and you still don’t stop.

A fallen branch blocks your path and you notice it too late. You fall into the snow. That branch is familiar, you must have been here before.

You don’t get up. Rolling onto your back is all you have the energy to do. The snow is freezing, but inviting, somehow. It’s soft against your numb skin, engulfs you like a blanket. Panicking only made you more tired and your eyes slip closed. You can feel sharp pain in your fingers and toes, hands and feet, arms and legs. It creeps up, into you, cold tendrils pulling you into sleep.

So tired. You let it take you.

The pain, the pull away from yourself…

Is this how your victims felt?

 

 


	3. Blue Melody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG this one was a bit of a Struggle 2 write and also ive been busy and had some Other Stuff™ happen but its all GOOD NOW
> 
> also i keep forgettin to include things ab the kids that r implied in canon, like i didnt make this kid very threatening tho i guess a lot of its still up to interpretation
> 
> here we Go

You wish you never had to leave Waterfall. Frankly, it seemed as if you didn’t have a choice. The bridge seed in your hand is heavy as you watch the water, puzzled over the puzzle yet entranced by the spinning and swirling you see. You sigh and take a step back to regain your focus. They had to be in line, all four of the seeds, but all straight paths across would only fit three.

Setting the seed down, you decide to wait and think it over some more. Give your brain a break. You sit on the rocky ground, lean against the wall. It’s a fairly smooth surface, wavy with the occasional ridge and jutting crystal interrupting. Your eyes close as you run a hand over it, your breaths slow, your mind wanders. You had wasted enough time already, but that wasn’t spent thinking so much as messing with the blossoms, exploring, ignoring the main path. All you found was a scornful sign and an odd quiche abandoned under a bench. You left it there.

You have to admit, you don’t like walking on the bridge blossoms much. They are absolutely gorgeous to see but shaky and slippery beneath your ballet shoes. The solid ground is much better, a surface to act as a foundation for your dance, a firm place to jump from, a safety net below the flips and pirouettes you treasure so much. An odd thought, really; you need the ground so you can float above it.

That’s it. You sit up, stand up, open your eyes and make your way back to the water you must cross. You know you can figure out the puzzle if you tried, but for now…

You take a few steps back. Steady breath, proper form, perfect alignment. You run towards the edge and leap. The twirl you do in the air is somewhat unintentional, simple instinct, but you have to admit you do enjoy adding your own flair to it. You stick the landing and bow to yourself, the erupt in giggles at your triumph. That may be your longest jump yet. You fix your tutu and walk on.

The next room takes your breath away. Twinkling stones shining on the ceiling like stars, luminescent blue flowers that seem to whisper as you pass. Your eyes scan everything as you slowly pace through, and your odd desire to stay only increases the more you see.

It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling. You always had places like this, places you wished to stay, places you would never forget. Perhaps it was because you never truly felt at home in your home, in any family, in any place where you felt restricted and repressed. The places you were drawn to were liberating, where you could feel free, alone.

The odd part is that, this time, it’s a strange locale. A cave, confining, dark walls and loneliness. But maybe that’s part of the appeal. Enough to let you wander, yet a shelter, walls of night sky and a ceiling of stars. Not completely desolate; there is still company, but you have solitude when so desired, no overbearing parents nor children with cruel words. If you desire an audience to watch you dance, you could so find one, but it isn’t as important; you dance for yourself, for the freedom you yearned for your whole life.

The room ends, and you bid farewell to the stars before you walk through the door.

You’re stopped. A sound behind you. You turn.

“Wosh u clothe,” the monster says.

“Pardon?” you giggle when you see it. It’s endearing, its body resembling a tub with a bird perched in it, a round face staring up at you.

“Wosh u clothe,” it repeats.

You glance down at your tutu and lift it up a bit. “Oh! It is fairly dusty, I suppose...but there’s not much I can do right now.”

“Wosh u hand.”

This is just getting ridiculous. You’re about to respond when it shoots...soap? It shoots soap at you, and you quickly dodge.

“Oh!” you say, “do you want to clean me?”

“Scrub-a-dub-dubs.”

You take that as a yes and smile. “Hands?” you ask, and hold them out.

It hops up to you with an excited expression, or at least as much of an expression as its tiny face can handle. Once close enough, a steady stream of water is sprayed from its tub onto your hands, and you giggle again.

“Fresh!” it says, and walks away.

You watch it go. What an odd creature. Yet charming. You finally turn and go through the door, continuing on your journey.

A lake, a dock, a wall. You can hear the water moving, rustling the plants that line it and splashing against the wood. On the wall, the engravings entice you, glowing and drawing you near. Your hand runs over it as you read the ancient letters. It’s a history, an account of the monsters and humans, the war you’ve only heard in stories. You read each one, taking time to appreciate the art and the glow in the silence and stillness of the stone.

The last one startles you a bit. It’s an image, one that you can hardly bear to look at for too long. you decide to stop reading and keep going. It stays with you, rattles your core and surfaces in your mind whenever you think it’s gone. You don’t even know what it was.

A long path awaits you, wooden and winding across dark water, a single walkway to guide. There are no other directions to go. You take a step, then another, light and cautious, an eye scanning the surroundings. The wood creaks, your steps echo, and you speed up. Eyes following the path as far as they can go, there seems to be no end to it, and the near-silence does not bode well. Only ambience: your steps, the wood, the water, a breath. Pillars line the right side across the water. You hope nothing is there.

The hope stays in your mind. It’s strengthened when it’s challenged, a thought to keep the fear building at bay. The uncanny sense of eyes on you climbs up your spine, tingles on the back of your neck, and you walk faster. The wall at the side, the platform of pillars, eventually drops off and you are left alone in the middle of the path, nothing but black expanse on either side.

An end. Finally. But you stop, hesitate. A row of plants stands tall before you, towering and staring down, making you feel small. You gather your breath, regulate it, calm yourself down, and step through. The plants rustle and ripple as you feel your way around. The tall leaves blend together in the darkness, and more light is filtered out by their density. Anything could be hiding in here, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting child. The leaves shake and shift more, close in on you and the more you speed up your steps the more they wrap around your limbs and body and grab at your feet and thicken to form a wall-

(You try to tell yourself it’s fine. They’re just plants, only plants, but it’s hard to convince  
yourself in the midst of the struggle. One thing you are far too aware of, though, is the slimy  
feeling sticking to your skin. Please, please, let this be over, get out, run.)

-you break free. You breathe a sigh of relief once you’re an adequate distance away from the plants, then look back. They seem no different than they had on the other side. You laugh it off as an overreaction, but the welcoming feeling Waterfall had greeted you with is slowly overcome by fear, an unsettling feeling deep in your stomach. You try to ignore it. It’s just the same as the place you fell in love with only minutes before. You’re just imagining things. It’s natural.

Your progress is apparent with the next room. The light emanating from the far side catches your eye, so you approach. A large chasm, a break in the path, keeps you from going in this direction; you couldn’t jump this one. But that isn’t what you’re occupied with. You kneel and stare amazed at the water, luminescent and reminiscent of the blue flowers you had seen earlier. You cautiously go to dip a hand in the liquid, hesitating for a moment before plunging it in. It felt no different. You swirl your fingers, slow at first, and watch the waves fan out and the water whirling in your wake.

“What are you,” you ask it, more of a statement than a question. “It’s warm…”

Mesmerized, you reluctantly stand and spin around. A small bridge connects two platforms, the ground you are on and another path. It crosses over this new water, or whatever it was. You spare a glance at the plants you had emerged from and another shiver spans through your body, unsettled. It would be good to get away.

After crossing the bridge you are led around a corner into a vast cavern. You are utterly awestruck. Islands punctuate the water, which stands still yet seems to flow with its glow. More wooden bridges connect each piece of land and the light seeps through the cracks when you walk over it. You recognize some of the plants growing in the water, small and pretty ornaments instead of the intimidating wall you passed through minutes before. Cattails and lily pads are sprinkled throughout the placid pool. More blue flowers grow on the land, glowing just as the water is, and they whisper to you as you pass.

Despite the odd pattern in which islands are connected, the path is straightforward, leading in generally one direction. One detour can be made, a turn into an isolated alcove with a view of the expanse of the cavern. You go to it, hesitating when you see the square section of tall plants that are all too familiar, but it’s small; you run your hands through it to find nothing there, and it’s fine.

Everything is music. The water bubbles and babbles despite its calm appearance, the occasional drip drop of dew from the rocks above causing a small splash, circles in the stillness. The flowers, whispering the secrets of visitors past as if having a conversation of their own. If you listen, you can hear the faint sound of a tune somewhere else in the system of cavers, a melodious music box sharing a song. The rustle of the plants in the water and out, the soft shift as the water moves them or a mysterious wind blows through, too faint for you to feel. Small lightning bugs buzz and float in the air, twinkling like the crystals on the ceiling and performing their own little dance. The glow is a light focused on you in the most beautiful stage you’ve ever seen, and you dance again. Freer than before, floaty, following moves you know and whatever your body decides to do, out towards the audience of an empty cave that still seemed to watch you with curious eyes.

“Okay,” you whisper, “bourée, piqué turn…”

You practice a routine you’ve known for a long time. You let the music flow through you and guide your every position, every leap and spin. It compliments the dance perfectly. The atmosphere, the sounds, nothing has ever felt more natural. A grin spreads across your face as you keep going, eventually losing any rhyme or reason and just following instinct. Emotion wells up, a combination of senses, you feel like laughing and crying, you get lost in the routine.

And you fall.

It’s nothing you aren’t used to; all of your practices inevitably led to a mistake, and falling was always a possibility. But you were so caught up in the moment, so in tune with everything around you, that it jolts you back to reality, back to where you are, and you’re left dazed.

 _That hurt,_ you think to yourself. You look around, remember what happened, and try to get up, but something holds you down.

“What-”

Plants. It’s the plants. You aren’t sure how, but one of the long leaves got tangled in one of your slippers, unwilling to budge, stubborn and staying in place. Breath catches, a beat of your heart passes, and you stare. What happened exactly, you don’t know, but the way the leaf is curled and tangled in the ribbons, the tight grip...it doesn’t seem like an accident. You wonder if that’s even possible. You assure yourself you’re making it up, that you’re still just scared, and try to get to work on removing yourself from the trap.

The leaves are strong, a thick surface you can’t break, rooted deep in the stone ground. The more you pull, the tighter it gets. You can’t find the end of it. You search. Run your hands down the blade of the plant. Try to follow it. To no avail.

You hear something. A sound, in the distance, a footstep or something falling. Your head whips around in the direction to look, but nothing is there. You hear it again, somewhere else. Another check, and again, nothing is there.

“It’s okay, you’re fine, it’s fine,” you attempt to reassure yourself, “nothing’s there, it’s okay.” Your voice cracks.

Frantically you pull at your foot, the plants keeping it bound, hands shaking and slipping until you find the end of the ribbon tied around your ankle. Pulling, untying, breathing faster, holding it and hoping.

You break free. Scramble out of the trap, run across the bridge connecting it to an island, stop to catch your breath. You briefly question why you ran here, out into the open, instead of hiding or staying near a wall, but you panicked. After glancing around, staying quiet for a moment, a minute, you conclude that nothing is there.

Hearing things. That’s what happened. You were just hearing things out of fear.

Despite your reassurances, you tense, then straighten your form as you look about. Your fists clench and you bid your back to stand up straight. Your eyes close, you take another deep breath, and when you open them, you’re better. If anything happens, you’ll be fine.

You can hear the sound of your slippers stepping on rock.

You can take care of yourself.

* * *

Continuing on your journey, another interesting piece of the path makes you stop and look. It circles around a smaller pool in the middle, a single blue flower standing right in front in the center. Smiling, you run a hand down its petals, feeling the velvety texture and admiring the bioluminescent blue, and your mind wanders again before you know it.

Home. Where you’re going. Where you want to return. But do you really? You climbed that mountain for an escape, and now you had it, but something is driving you to return anyway. Fear? Regret? Obligation? You hadn’t thought about it before. Maybe you just weren’t welcome. A human amidst monsters, outcast again, alone but not in the way you wished for.

“Enough of that, though.” You say it out loud.

You were so close in your routine, before you lost track of what you were doing. You had never felt that natural, that in tune with the tune. Perhaps you could try again here, more careful this time, while you still have the music to guide.

So you do. You repeat the routine, paying attention to your moves yet letting the ambience take you again, finding a balance like the one you need when you spin and leap and point your feet. And it works. You grin ear to ear, laugh briefly again, spare yourself a clap, and decide to try again. So close to your own personal preference of perfection, so near to what you used to work for when in your town. Once more.

The joy you find in your situation is one you never expected. To be down here, trapped with monsters and dangers, separated from the familiarity above, you were terrified at first. The dance is a reprieve, it always has been. It helps you keep in mind the beauty of it all, of the lives down here, of the different locations and atmospheres. Maybe you’ll have a perfected dance to show off when you return. Maybe then they’ll like you.

You begin, utterly elated just by the movement. A leap, a twirl, a step, a pirouette, a strange, sharp sensation through your stomach, your spine, and everything stops.

Eyes glance down as you fall to your knees, pain muffled by shock. What is that sticking out of you, sharp? Is that _your_ blood that’s dripping from its tip?

There is no time to know before you’re no more.


	4. Purple Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so!! im takin a lil break here bc my beta's in Finals Hell and also so i can get ahead on this n mayb write some toher stuff. and just chill. im a lazy ass
> 
> should b back around christmas B^) but anyway here u go

These mushroom things. You’ve seen them before. In groups, mostly, touch one and it stops glowing. Upon touching it again it turns back on, but there is no change to the others. The ones in this room are different. Connected to a system of some sort. Paths of crystals light up. Certain fungi orders turn certain paths on and off. Interesting.

You write it down and keep poking at the mushroom. More like a lamp, if anything. On then off, instant response. Still somehow organic. You have knowledge of how bioluminescence works, but your main question still stands. How do the crystals turn on in response? They seem like just normal...rocks. Attempt to pull one out. Met with no success.

Next room. Etchings on the left, old but legible. More history on monsters, more notes for you to take. Then you look out and survey the room. It’s dark, with a lamp next to you and...more crystals? You touch the lamp and look up, expecting the result yet still surprised by how it looks. The entire room glows, but starts to fade. You press it again, and it repeats. It gets darker, and separate crystals off the path start glowing, but not enough to light up the room. You wish you had a way to save this image.

But, again, how do they work? These lamps could be interconnected, but again, the crystals are the issue. You turn back, wondering if asking that old guy with the shop will help you at all. Probably not. Worth a shot.

Cautious, you walk back, hurrying but still careful. More of those monsters could pop up at any minute, or you could fall off the path. Turn the corner, back to Gerson’s.

You peer around the entrance and knock on the side to get his attention. He looks up and smiles his odd, wrinkly tortoise-monster smile.

“Back already, kiddo?”

“How do those paths of crystals work?”

“Right to the point, now, aren’t ya?”

You place your hands on the counter and stand on the tips of your toes to see him. “How are they connected? I can’t figure it out.”

“Well, those are the crystals that old monsters used to-”

“Skip the history lesson, I got that much from the engravings on the walls.”

Gerson gives you an amused look. “Kid, there’s some things that are just magic. You gotta accept that.”

You frown, eyebrows furrowed behind your glasses. “But there has to be an explanation! A scientific one!”  
  
“Wahaha, maybe there is, but I’m not the one that’s gonna know it. I’m a history person myself.”

You reply with a sigh. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”

“Want another crab apple?”

“No,” you say, only mildly irritated but enough to ignore his offer, even if you may need it.

You stalk away, knowing you shouldn’t have expected anything more from the crazy old guy. Maybe someone else you meet later will know. So many questions about everything, and there’s so little you can understand...you huff in irritation at the thought.

As you begin to walk back, you consider your options. Continuing and forgetting about the crystals is a viable option, but how many discoveries would you be missing out on? Maybe you should just accept Gerson’s explanation? It’s just magic? No, that’s not possible, everything on the surface has a logical reason, no matter how mystical it seemed. But then there’s the fact that monsters are mostly magic, which you also don’t understand (you make a note to yourself to investigate that later, too). But the crystals were here before the monsters, right? So wouldn’t they follow normal rules of the world? Or maybe the underground was just like this and it’s coincidence that the magical beings happened to come here, too…

It hurts your head, and you love it. And hate it. But gosh, it’s so interesting to think about! You decide to sit down, leaning against a wall in the hall filled with flowing water and flowers, lined with more historical engravings. The blue echo flowers stare at you, and you stare back, thoughts and attention turning to them.

They’re fascinating, too. You tried picking one a while back, but the stem was too thick and solid, some sort of defense from damage, maybe. Their glow was mesmerizing, and you think back to the school lesson on bioluminescence. You had been so engrossed in it, you went home and looked up more information, forgetting to do your actual homework. A chuckle escapes your lips from the memory.

The notebook under your arm demands your attention. You take it out and flip to a new page, glance up at a flower again, and start sketching. If you can’t take one with you, might as well make as detailed a diagram as you can.

Their echo is also a bit of a mystery. Perhaps they store sound wave vibration patterns? How are they provoked to whisper back what they had heard? Are they sentient? Maybe they’re a species of monster themselves. Or some sort of hybrid? Their stems and petals are so thick, maybe it’s to prevent others from cutting them open to investigate? At the very least, you have more hypotheses than you do for the crystals.

The drawing is finished, and you look down at it and smile. You’ve always taken pride in your observational drawing skill, despite only using it for this same reason. You jot down notes next to it, labels, the ideas that had crossed your mind as you sketched.

Eyes closed again, you lean your head back against the wall and allow yourself a moment of relaxation before standing up. You trudge through the weird mud across the water again, down the hall, retracing the path to the crystal rooms. The eerie, quiet atmosphere is one you’ve grown quite used to in your short time here. It keeps you aware of your surroundings, integrated and immersed.

You wander the first crystal room this time, playing more with the mushrooms and their activation patterns. You follow different paths, explore every corner, until you make it to the southeastern part and notice something...odd. There’s a path here, but nothing to illuminate it, keeping it hidden.

Of course you follow it. It’s mysterious and sketchy and you _have_ to know what’s down there.

You did not expect what greets you.

Odd cat-like creatures with two pairs of ears...one is dog-like? They all look exactly the same. Same blank stare. There’s so many. Is that...a statue of one of them? All of them?

You approach one, tentative. “Hello.”

“hOI!!”

You jump a little at the response, loud and shrill. “Um...who are you?”

“im temmie!! and dis is my friend...temmie!”

“Do...you all share the same name?”

One speaks up. “That would not be completely true. I’m Bob.”

You have, for once, absolutely no idea what to say. You turn back to the first one you spoke to. “So, uh, what is this place?”

“tem village!!!”

“And that statue over there? Who is that?”

“statue of tem!! VERY FAMUS!!!!!!!!”

You stare at the creature and let yourself laugh. “My, you are...oddly adorable creatures,” you mutter to yourself, but it still hears you.

“THANKU!!!”

With a smile, you bid it farewell, and go to walk around the village. A mushroom catches your eye at the other end, a growth similar to the ones you saw around Waterfall, the ones that activated the crystals. Curious, you approach, and touch it as you did the others.

It starts moving, and you quickly retract your hand. Is it...dancing? It stops, then its cap rises and its eyes are revealed, staring at you.

“My life is an existence filled with torment, permanently trapped here by my hyphae.”

“I’m...sorry,” is all you can supply. Then you think. Your eyes widen. “Wait...hyphae...are you, by any chance connected to all the other mushrooms around here?” It ignores you. “Do you know how everything works? Are the crystals also fungi you’re attached to?”

“Don’t talk to me. Leave me with my inner demons.”

You stop, your smile becoming a tense, awkward line on your face. You step away.

The hyphae hypothesis was one you had considered before, briefly, but seemed odd due to the very solid crystalline structure of the rocks. This thing’s comment makes you think about it again, though; perhaps there’s something inside the crystals you overlooked? You head back to investigate again, giving a quick goodbye to the tems.

“bOI!!!” comes the chorus of every single one. Except Bob. Bob gives you a respectful nod.

You have to admit, they certainly cheered you up. You hadn’t even noticed you weren’t feeling at your best. The monster world is a truly intriguing one, some parts amusing, to say the least. Laughing to yourself, you return to the crystal room and begin to examine them again.

Still nothing, at least as far as you can tell. Perhaps the naked eye is not enough. Like the flowers, it’s too bad you can’t break off a sample. You just don’t have the right tools. The next room could give you more clues, since they’re connected to lanterns rather than mushrooms. Maybe it’s a different system altogether. Even if it is, discoveries there may aid in here, too. And it’ll keep you occupied.

A squelching sound can be heard from behind you. It’s familiar, so you aren’t too surprised as you turn around. The moldsmal there stares at you, even though it lacks eyes, and you smile.

“Hello, there,” you say.

Another squelch in response. You turn back around and keep walking, paying the monster no mind. It stays where it was, as usual.

Next room. Activate the lamp, make your way around. Analysis would be hard when the lights keep dimming. You find a good spot, closer to the middle of the room and next to a lantern, and move to squat down when you hear something. Another squishing sound, much bigger, different than the moldsmal’s...upon inspection, nothing is there. You turn and reactivate the lamp. Examine the rocks.

Another squish.

“Did you follow me?” you say without looking up, and smile again.

No response. So you turn your eyes upwards. Then stand and back away.

It’s bigger. The body is elongated, standing erect with another dome of mold at the top, sideways and facing you like an eye. It wiggles in place, then shoots something at you. It hits. You cry out. You run.

The lights dim and you’re frantic. You turn to see the monster in pursuit right before the lights go out, but in turning your head, you trip. You try to get up, then reach for a lamp. Lights turn back on. It isn’t there. You turn to keep running, and it blocks your path.

You run in the other direction, but must have taken a wrong turn. Cornered, you turn around and see it standing there, a few feet in front of you, not moving. As it fades from your view, you realize there’s only one course of action. Deep breath. Then you run, pushing it to the side, and feel your way around the best you can.

It managed to hit you again as you shoved it out of the way, knocking its projectile from its original path but hitting you in the leg instead. You can feel blood soaking through your pants as you limp away. You reach the entrance, thankful, and push yourself into the next room.

Light. Constant light. Some of the crystal paths have shut off, but you know the way well enough by now. However…

You glance at your notebook and pause. It’s not like you haven’t done this before, and this new mold monster specimen is unfamiliar and worthy of note and study. It approaches, and you take mental note of what it does, knowing that writing anything down in this situation would be very unwise.

Dodge an attack. Examine the method. Attack patterns. Another grazes you, just barely, but you block the next with your notebook. Move back when it gets too close; it’s fairly slow right now, though you try not to think about how fast it could be if it kept catching up to you earlier.

Okay, perhaps that one that hit you was more than a graze. You feel weak, more blood staining your clothes, but there’s still more to be seen. You’ll be fine. You’ve done this before. One more round of dodging, then you’re off.

You stare at it. The ripples in its body, the sounds it makes, the way it decides when and where to attack. The similarities between this one and the original moldsmal’s rare attacks are apparent, but this one’s much deadlier. How did it disguise its true size earlier? What are the differences between the sizes? Is there some sort of mold hierarchy?

Another hit. Oh, no. That one hurt, right in the abdomen. You stare down in horror before turning, too late, and trying to run back as quickly as you can. You leave the crystal room and the mold seems to have stopped pursuing you, but you don’t stop. You have to ask for help.

You manage to get to Gerson’s. Leaning against the doorframe, you sheepishly look up at him.

“Hey, Gerson,” you say, “shoulda taken you up on that crab apple offer, huh?” You take a step towards his surprised face, hoping he can assist, but the last of the strength is drained from you too soon. You fall.

Gerson sighs. “You knew your stats were low, kid. And for someone who tries to be so smart, too...”


End file.
